


Lucky Charms and Wisdom Teeth

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [40]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m an ogre!” Sam growls it out, and Dean’s laughing so damn hard he almost drops his phone to crack against the floor.</p>
<p>In which Pax surprises his parents, and Sam and Dean are piss-poor role models. Oh, and Sam's an ogre.<br/>This is shameless fluff. Can be (majority) read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Charms and Wisdom Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the most fluffy pieces I've ever written, not my usual MO. Hopefully you can stomach it. If you're in the process of reading the previous installments, ignore this. If you're just reading this one, carry on!

Dean’s not surprised when he hears about it.

He doesn’t have the chance to get angry at Sam, because Sam tells him everything, the day after the gets home. Dean knows that he needs time to process, and so they can avoid the obligatory fight about keeping secrets.

Sam settles down between his legs in bed, long after the kids have been put down, Dec clinging like a spider-monkey to Sam’s back. “I wanna fly,” he cries out, slapping at Sam’s hips with the heels of his socked feet.

To his everlasting credit, Sam only laughs and hitches the boy higher onto his hips, grinning like a fool. Dean’ll be forever grateful for his children, and the pregnancy he endured for them, because they brought him to this certain kind of perfection.

He knows that Sammy’s there, a little more crooked for the wear, but his brother’s there, he sees it in the way Sam looks at their boys, the blanket-burn of how well he cares for them.

Pax throws his arms around Daddy’s legs, not to be left out, and Sam is careful, lifts his right leg up so that he can stomp around with Pax hanging off of him like a limpet.

Pax is giggling and Dean knows his mouth is split-open on a grin. He’s not used to hearing his youngest make this much noise, kid prefers to express himself in quieter ways. Pax looks so much like his Daddy it’s uncanny, down to the slant of his eyes.

“Say it, Daddy!” Pax chirps down low, and Dean’s a bit worried Sam won’t be able to hear him over Dec’s roars of delight.

Sam pauses to look down at his baby and jiggles his legs in acknowledgement. “Alright, sweetheart,” Sam says, and then his face flushes as he glances over at Dean.

Sam so rarely is embarrassed by anything anymore, Dean perks up, wonders what his brother, King of Hell--murderer--could possibly find to irritate him.

Sam straightens his back and Dean leans forward. He pulls out his phone to record, on a whim. That’s usually Sammy or Kade’s domain, and Dean’s good with that. Thinks the kids are too busy to perform on cue, but he figures, what the hell. Someone’s gonna want to look at these one day.

Sammy’s always wanted to capture things, words, pictures, drawings. Dean doesn’t understand why Sam can’t pause long enough to _live_ it, but some things aren’t worth the argument.

He clicks record, cause this is for his own personal amusement.

Sam takes a deep breath and raises his leg, the one where Pax is clinging for dear life.

“I’m an ogre!” Sam growls it out, and Dean’s laughing so damn hard he almost drops his phone to crack against the floor.

“Jesus, Sammy, how many times they have you watch that movie?” Dean’s crying, because Dec and Pax rarely agree on anything, at two and a half, they’re as opposite as night and day. As Dec is brightness and volatility, and Pax is made of sterner stuff, they tend to squabble over any and everything.

Except for fucking Shrek, apparently.

“Go on then,” Dean snorts, balances his elbows on his thighs so he can keep a steady grip on his phone. “You were just saying you were an ogre.” Dean says.

Sam shoots him a look addled with violence, but when he turns to face his sons, he’s grinning.

Pax slaps his fist against his Daddy’s calf, turns halfway from his throne to face Dean. “Papa!” He squeals, and Dean’s about to break clean with how much he loves them.

Shit, it’s almost too much, and he looks down and away.

“What’s up, buddy?” Dean tries again, his voice strangling his throat. “Daddy’s ahger,” Pax tries, and Sam stumbles when he starts to laugh at the attempt.

Dean gets down on one knee, zooms forward with the camera lense. “He’s what, Pax?” Pax looks confused, drags his thumb from behind his teeth.

“Daddy!” Pax offers hopefully, amber eyes blinking up at Dean’s. Dean is distracted from his youngest by the sound of Dec slapping his feet into Sam’s ribcage.

“Ahger!” Dec screams, paragon of grace and patience, Dean thinks dryly. Dean aims the camera up obligingly.

“You heard ‘em,” Dean says, scrubbing his hand across the stubble on his chin. “Get to it, Shrek.” Sam’s biting at the inside of his jaw when he looks down at Dean, winces in mock pain as Dec’s small hand smacks down against the top of his head.

“Y’know what that makes you, then, Dean.” Sam says. Dean’s not listening, he’s leaning down low enough to brush Pax’s bangs out of his eyelids.

“What’s that, Sammy?” Dean asks.

“An ass.” Sam says smugly, and whirls in place so that both his boys scream in delight. “Ass, ass,” Dec mimics, and Dean watches as Sam has the grace to blush.

“Real role model there, Sam,” Dean says tightly, but he’s more amused than anything else. Who are his kids gonna offend, demons?

His spine locks up with the thought. That’s who surrounds his children. The damned.

Sam’s oblivious, and his scent peeks out, chilled air and sunlight. Dean settles on it, breathes it into his throat carefully. “Dean, Dec’s third word was shit.” Sam says it brightly, not like Dec hasn’t heard it before, and Dean clears his throat.

“Kid was gonna hear it at some point.” Dean defends, but Sam’s chuckling too hard to notice. “Shit,” Pax murmurs at Sam’s feet, and Dean rolls his eyes to the sky and wonders who thought they’d ever make suitable parents.

Sam swings Dec’s body around so he’s cradled in his Daddy’s arms. Dec rears back, doesn’t want cuddles, slaps at Sam’s cheeks with open palms. His black t-shirt hangs off of one cream-colored shoulder, and Dean leans forward to slip it back into place.

Sam takes the abuse in stride, his eyes trace the letters of Metallica running across their oldest son’s chest.

“Really, Dean?” Sam admonishes, and Dec squirms at the lack of attention. “It’s never too early,” Dean says, secretly pleased that his kid isn’t ruined for all things classic rock.

Pax has little to no patience for Marillion, tangles himself in Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden, and Dean’s never been so happy as to see that. They’re his. He knows they belong to him, but that does it for him in a way that he doesn’t think Sam can understand.

Dean knows they have things to discuss, thinks about the ring of Holy Fire wrapped around Samael in the Pit, the retinue of guards, led by Dantalion, that guard him, night and day.

The taut way Sam sleeps curled around him, brittle and aware even in unconsciousness.

He can’t let go with the enemy so close, but he also can’t seem to breathe through it.

In half a year, Samael hasn’t said so much as another word, not that Dean’s been going down to speak with him on the regular. Sam doesn’t like him down there without him, and Dean can understand why. Dean won’t let Sam go alone either, and that’s been the source of many fights, Sam shifting mid-argument in intimidation.

Dean’s omega obliged, but he’s more resolute than that. There won’t be a damned thing that Sam does alone that Dean does not attend to, that he’s not ever present for.

Sam thinks that he’s waiting for something.

Dean doesn’t like that they aren’t the least bit prepared for what he might be waiting on. Dean’s got his own theories, and all of them hinge on the idea that Samael’s close to his rogue brother, the one that he wants to remain incarcerated until the end of time.

Dean watches absently as Pax disentangles himself from his Daddy’s leg, only to scramble across the room.

“Why’d you do it?” Dean says suddenly, regrets the question as soon as it hits open air, because Sam’s spine stiffens imperceptibly, and Dec stills in his Daddy’s arms.

“You know why, Dean,” Sam says tiredly, in that distinct tone of voice that tells Dean to stop, he doesn’t want to talk about it, let it go.

Dean’s good at reading Sammy’s cues, he just doesn’t give a fuck.

“I wanna know why, Sam.” Dean’s voice is hard, he doesn’t talk like that to Sam, but he wants his brother to know that he’s serious, that he needs to know. He’s given Sam all of himself, pieces that he didn’t think he owned, but he created just so his brother could have them to mutilate.

He deserves this.

Sam leans down to set Dec on the ground, and Dec opens his mouth on a wail, but he must see something in Sam’s face, because he scoots away, uses the edge of Sam’s desk to pull himself upright. His jeans hang lopsided, but he’s breaking into a broad jump before Dean can fix the issue, hot-chocolate hair flopping in his eyes.

“They were waiting for me.” Sam leans against the wall, shoves the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

“They wanted me.” Sam shrugs, as if that’s all there is to it, that’s the answer. Dean can feel his fists curl in at his sides, punch-tight. “S’not an answer, Sam. That’s barely a fucking explanation.” Dean’s voice is level, he’s monitoring the fear-scent of his pups.

Sam levers himself away from the wall, peers down at Dean blankly. “What do you want from me, Dean?” Sam hisses.

“They planned it. The owner was in on it.” Sam sighs. “I would’ve let ‘em live. I didn’t care. They don’t bother me, I don’t bother them.” Sam says.

“I remember what it’s like. The life. It’s who they are.” Sam spreads his hands in obsequence. “I wouldn’t take that away from them.”

Dean’s shaking his head, because it makes sense, but it still doesn’t. “I know that, Sammy. I know.” Dean knows his brother. He’s still in there, and Sammy wouldn’t do that. He’s fair.

Dean has trouble guessing what the King of Hell will do, though.

“They wanted a fight. Came with their guns and their traps and their holy water.” Sam shrugs, indifferent. “What would letting them live have proven, Dean?” Dean recoils. “I don’t know, Sam! That you’re not what they think you are?”

Sam glances over to where Dec is making a concerted effort to climb atop of his brother’s head.

“What do they think of me, Dean?” Sam’s voice is cool, and as much as Dean sniffs, he can’t smell the volatility of his brother’s Alpha. It smells like Sam always does, undercurrent of rage.

“You know, Sam,” Dean sighs out, disappointed. “They think you’re a monster.” Sam’s jaw twitches. “You agree?” Sam says blandly.

“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Dean says. “You know I’ll never think that of you. God help me, I don’t think I ever could.” Sam nods like he’s mulling it over. “Then what do I give a fuck what they think of me?” Sam asks.

“I just need them to leave me alone. Leave you alone.” Sam nods in the direction of the twins. “Don’t _threaten_ me.”

Dean can understand that. He does. He doesn’t want to see where his brother is coming from, but he does, regardless. Sammy didn’t do anything he wouldn’t have done. And Dean’s so damn tired of being attacked.

“I gave them chances,” Sam continues, as if now that he’s started he can’t be shut off. “I kept coming back, you know. I knew. They had to know I knew.” Sam bows his head.

“I came by myself, same time, every Thursday. I told everyone where I went.” Sam says. Dean nods on a wooden neck. Sammy’s right. He warned them. Did they want it so badly that they went against every hunter’s instinct there was?

Did they think Sam would make it easy on them?

“You know what I did. I killed ‘em all, and I’d do it again, Dean.” Sam doesn’t sound apologetic, or even remorseful, but he does sound plaintive, like everything hinges on Dean’s ability to understand, to believe.

“I know what happened, Sam.” Dean’s weary, and he regrets starting this. He didn’t ask for Sam’s benefit, he wants to know for his own sake. This doesn’t have anything to do with Sam.

Sam nods once, to himself, reaches for Dean to drag him in close.

“I mean it, Dean. They know what they’re signing up for.”

Dean shivers in Sam’s Alpha-grip, growls low in his chest. “You’re big and bad, Sammy, I get it,” Dean quips, too still in Sam’s clutch.

Sam releases him, leans lower to scent mark his neck.

“That’s you, Dean.” Sam says vaguely, and before Dean can honor that with a response, there’s a scuffle from behind Sam’s desk.

Dean’s there first, which sounds impossible given Sam’s supernatural speed, but he laughs when he sees what’s going on.

Pax is pulling himself up onto Sam’s desk chair, and the thing swivels threateningly in his ascent. Sam flicks out a hand and the chair stills, held in place by Sam’s thought.

Dec’s irritated on the ground below, but for once he’s not strongarming his little brother out of the way in the effort to make it to the  top first.

Pax, oblivious or uncaring to his audience, grips the edge of the desk and hooks his hands against the mahogany.

Sam reaches out for him, there’s a gap between desk and chair and Sam doesn’t want him to fall through, but Dean holds up a hand.

“Let him,” Dean says, and Sam drops his hand.

Dean leans forward as Pax flings his left leg up onto the desk to join the grip he holds around the wood. He jumps twice, unsuccessfully, and on the third try his body rolls atop his Daddy’s papers, scattering them about haphazardly.

Pax rises to his feet with a sigh of accomplishment, and Sam’s hands are twitching by his sides.

Dean turns to Sam with a broad grin, but Sam’s face is pale, and then he’s knocking Dean out of the way with the way his right hand stretches out. It’s a reluctantly familiar gesture, one that Sam uses when he’s about to use his mental manipulation, and Dean’s slow as molasses when he turns back around.

Pax is hurtling himself off of the edge of the desk with an uncharacteristic squeal of glee, and several things happen at once.

His little boy’s feet leave the polished surface and then his clothes tear to shreds as his wolf rips into being.

Secondly, Sam stops his hurtle to the ground and so, frozen in mid-air, puppy whimpers trickling from his throat, is Paxton’s russet-colored wolf.

Sam lowers him gingerly to the ground and releases, and then he hears the yips of his youngest, scrambling around on four soft paws, claws scritching against the hardwood floor.

Dean drops to his knees, heart thumping in his throat, and Sam’s motionless where he stands.

Paxton bumps the wet of his nose against Dean’s shin, twice, and Dean realizes his boy wants to be picked up. He scoops the bundle of fur into his arms, scratching between his ears until they lay flat against his head.

Dean looks up at Sam, wild-eyed.

“Are they supposed to--” his voice sputters out, and when Sam collects himself, he’s grinning. “Not til around three,” Sam finishes for him, but there’s so much pride in Sam’s voice that Dean scents the honey-lemon of glee.

“It’s involuntary. They can’t control it.” Sam says, and Dean nods to his brother. “When’s he gonna shift back?” Dean asks. Sam shrugs, places his hand over his son’s tiny head and it almost engulfs his whole body. Pax purrs in his arms.

“Soon, probably.” Sam says slowly, like he’s thinking.

“They’re more comfortable on two legs right now, because that reminds them of us.” Sam says, textbook accuracy, as always.

Dean doesn’t mind his baby like this, loves him in any form, but he doesn’t want Pax to be scared, knows senses are more potent as a wolf.

Dean hears Dec holler, turns fluidly to press Paxton’s furry form into Sam’s outstretched arms.

Dec’s standing, face red in suppressed tantrum. Dean snatches him up, nibbles at his nose. “S’wrong, little man?” Dec slaps at Dean’s chest in rage. “Pax,” he says finally, jabs a finger at where Pax is licking at Sam’s cheeks.

“Yeah buddy, that’s your little brother.” Dean speaks Dec pretty well, can tell his oldest is irritated at the attention, can scent the difference of his brother.

“Ass.” Dec says plainly, and Dean turns scandalized eyes up to Sam’s.

Sam is shaking with silent laughter, and Paxton yips from his perch in Sam’s arms. Sam’s head is thrown back, sun-warm and broken-wide, and Dean can’t help but laugh too, jostles Dec from his angry torrent in Dean’s arms.

Dean can see Dec’s pearly teeth when he grins, pleased at the attention.

“Ass,” he repeats, jumping up and down in Dean’s grip.

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean mutters, but his brother’s smiling too openly for Dean to say anything else.

“Like father, like son,” Sam huffs out, and Dean flips him the bird when Dec’s not looking. 

 


End file.
